


A Heart to Heart

by Priestlyislove



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Attempt at Humor, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, One Shot, Over Dramatic Prose, Pre series, Religious Conflict, Sappy, Smoking, So much longing and yearning, Star-crossed, inhuman traits, obviously, the ineffable plan, they’re both stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Priestlyislove/pseuds/Priestlyislove
Summary: Aziraphale feels a strange ache in his chest when Crowley smirks at him or laughs so hard he snorts or when their hands brush together accidentally or when he does anything, really, and Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do about it.





	A Heart to Heart

“I really do owe you a thank you,” Aziraphale fumbled with the bottle of scotch. He poured Crowley’s glass first. He had a glass set aside just for Crowley. It was polite, he thought, since Crowley came by so often. To have something familiar and personal waiting for him in the bookstore was just a kind gesture. Crowley always sat in the arm chair as well, and that was just fine with Aziraphale. He wanted his company to be comfortable. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way Crowley’s scent would linger, if he didn’t run his fingers along the armrest imagining sinking into the seat and being enveloped in the lasting traces of his friend. Never partaking, as if it was some kind of sin.

Crowley made a sound halfway between a grunt and a sniffle in response. He took his glass and collapsed into his chair, and the scotch that was displaced from the cup found its way back where it belonged without spilling a drop. Aziraphale smiled. Just like clockwork. Whenever they’d drink together, Crowley would do the same things. It was hard to spend 6,000 years with someone and not pick up on their behavior.

“I know, I know, but it’s in my nature.” Aziraphale sat across the coffee table from him. He realized he forgot his glass at the counter. Before he moved an inch, it materialized in his hand. Apparently, Crowley was picking up on his behavior, too.

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley muttered disinterestedly. They had had this conversation hundreds of times before. “Consider it getting even for ‘98.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale conceded, because Crowley knew he was grateful and Crowley was more fun to talk to when Aziraphale didn’t make him huffy with talk of his goodness. He sipped his drink. “I trust you’ve been getting into trouble since we last chatted?”

“And you’ve been staying out of it,” Crowley lifted his glass in agreement, and they both chuckled. Aziraphale watched him drink, and that pesky ache in his chest returned. He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t think he liked it. It was a recent feeling, only really becoming an issue in the past century. It was hard to enjoy Crowley’s company when there was this strange longing that overtook him when they’d meet eyes.

“Crowley, I-“ desperate for a distraction from what he was about to say, Aziraphale focused his eyes on Crowley’s slender fingers as he set down his glass on the end table, carefully avoiding the small pile of books already resting there. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “You smoke?”

“Oh, yes. I usually consider it bad form to support another demon’s creation, but I can’t help it.” Crowley set the rolled paper between his teeth before adding, “I like the way it tastes.”

“Right. That’s not right. I don’t think-all the gentlemen I’ve seen do it don’t seem to swallow it,” Aziraphale watched the cigarette disappear.

“Aziraphale and his gentlemen, that’s it,” Crowley laughed bitterly, and a wisp of smoke curled out of his mouth, the remnants of his cigarette, or a hellfire of his own. “Aren’t you afraid of being caught by the all mighty while you indulge in sin at one of those clubs?”

Aziraphale didn’t like the way Crowley talked about god. It made him squirm. He wanted to fix Crowley, deep down. He wanted to raise Crowley up into the glowing majesty of heaven and have him return to his arms donning a halo. And then, maybe...Aziraphale didn’t know exactly what he was hoping for.

“Love is hardly a sin,” Aziraphale brushed him off curtly.

Crowley snorted, “Oh, yeah? Then why do you avoid it so vehemently?”

Aziraphale considered this for a moment. “Pardon?” His nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Oh, come on,” Crowley snapped his fingers, and his glass refilled itself. He took a long swig-longer than should be possible, considering the size of the glass-before continuing, “You've always been a heartbreaker.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” Aziraphale adjusted himself uncomfortably in his seat.

“You’ve been stringing along boys ever since there’s been boys. You’re scared of commitment.”

“I detect a hint of resentment in your voice,” Aziraphale observed, not particularly meanly. It wasn’t an accusation as much as it was an inquiry. _Why_ , he asked without speaking.

Crowley tapped his leather shoe on the hardwood. He leaned forward in his seat, making a face that suggested he was finding an easy way to word a complicated answer. “I don’t know what I mean to you.” He answered plainly.

“Oh.” Aziraphale felt a warmth in his face. He smiled a little, thinking his response would come simply, but no words formed. He let out a defeated breath. “ _Oh_.”

“Mhm,” Crowley nodded sagely, “that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You never even call me your friend-“

“We’re not friends,” Aziraphale deflected instinctively. He felt a twinge of guilt as Crowley’s face fell. He hated seeing that pout and hating even more being the cause of it. He tried to cheer him up by amending, “It’s not personal. We’re-you know, we’re a demon and an angel. That’s not-it never works that way, like mixing oil and water. It goes against...everything, really.”

“Right,” Crowley replied, rather snippily. “The great, ineffable plan, and all that shit.”

Aziraphale was a little miffed. “Well, yes. It’s beyond our understanding. I’d _like_ to like you, really, but-“

“But what if,” Crowley drawled slowly, staring at Aziraphale curiously from behind his heavy shades and motioning between them with his glass, “all this is just a part of that ineffable plan?”

It would appear that the thought never occurred to Aziraphale. His expression changed. It got softer, which Crowley would’ve thought was impossible. Aziraphale stood up and wandered over to him like he was sleepwalking. He settled into Crowley’s lap like sea foam settles on the coast. He took off Crowley’s sunglasses and set them aside. As far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale had just stripped him completely naked.

“Joking,” Crowley croaked out quietly as Aziraphale traced the angle of his cheekbones with his warm fingers, “I was-joking. Mostly joking.”

Like all angels, Aziraphale was almost unsettlingly pretty up close. His eyelashes were feathery, the wrinkles on his face seemed to glitter, his dark eyes were heavy with the call of the cosmos. There was a permanent kind of hopeful sadness lost in his expression, and some kind of magic that made anyone seeing him become overwhelmed with the urge to protect his smile. Or maybe that was just Crowley.

“This couldn’t be.” Aziraphale whispered sadly. “We would never work.”

If Crowley was smart, he would’ve bitten his serpent tongue and let the night proceed. Instead, he blurted out, “why’s that?”

Aziraphale laughed like a star twinkles. “You frighten me, Crowley.”

Crowley’s mouth felt dry. He didn’t usually make spit, so it was probably always dry, but right now it felt particularly dry. He raised a trembling hand and snapped his fingers, and his sleek black look turned pink. He even added a big bow on his hip for good measure. “S’a little too much, really, all the black. I always thought so.”

“Not that kind of frighten,” Aziraphale twinkled again. He touched the now rosy collar of his jacket. “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

Crowley blinked. “You? Hurt _me?_ ” He poked the angel in the stomach. “You’re a creampuff!”

Aziraphale’s fingers ghosted up to Crowley’s face, just barely cupping it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand anything,” Crowley murmured, and the look in his eyes was hungry. “S’alright, though, isn’t it? Just one night that we can erase tomorrow? Pretend it never happened? No great prophecies or plans. No heaven or hell, no angels or demons. Just us.”

“I like the sound of that,” Aziraphale brought Crowley’s face closer, tilting his head to avoid colliding their noses as he kissed him.

Crowley’s heart, which had been faithfully still for a couple years now, started thundering in his chest.


End file.
